lamprophony
by paperplanet
Summary: Hunger Games AU. But then he smiles, this slow blissful smile and says, "Tell me Artemis Crock," he halts and takes a step forward so that the tip of her arrow is pressed right to his skin, his heart. "Are you going to kill me?"


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Disclaimer: I own neither Young Justice nor Hunger Games.

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**lamprophony**

_(loudness and clarity of voice)_

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Her heart beats so fast that she thinks it will burst out of her chest. The grasses are green under her feet and the cool wind soothes her skin but those facts barely register into her mind. Never mind how her wounds are bleeding, how the images of dead bodies flashes behind her heavy eyelids, and how just yesterday this boy in front of her made her stomach fluttered like crazy. He still does, but she can't afford to think about that.

It's about winning now, and there's no use pretending it never is.

Once, both of them had been convinced it's about unity, about how the rules had been changed into their favor because they are the star crossed lovers. They were going to walk out safely out of the arena, and the illusion of winning had been sweet.

Oh, how she hates the Capitol. How she hates Luthor—(she's going to make his life as a president a living hell if she survives this), and how she hates how she has to win this.

He's holding his knife, it isn't pointed at her or anything like that—but he's the fastest person she has ever met and though his leg is injured so badly he can barely stand, she knows it's not an obstacle to move his hands and throw the silver blade right to her heart before she can even blink.

So it's her hands that are raised, and it's her arrow that is pointed right to his heart.

Her whole body hurts but she knows that her head and heart are hurting the most for she knows him now and it must have been easier if he's simply a nameless face or a faceless name—but she knows him now, has laughed with him and now it's so damn difficult.

He looks at her, green eyes that flash under the sun and really looks at her—at the real her, the person inside of her she thinks she understand and it kinda freaks her out how easy it is for Wally West to see her. She feels on display. She feels vulnerable. She isn't used to anyone being on such close proximity even though it's by an arrow's length.

But then he smiles, this slow blissful smile and says, "Tell me Artemis Crock," he halts and takes a step forward so that the tip of her arrow is pressed right to his skin, his heart. There's a dull thud as his knife hit the soft ground. He's completely at her mercy now, and she knows she has to do this. He looks into her eyes and she grits her teeth to prevent herself from looking away. "Are you going to kill me?"

She hates how his tone is cheery, so light as if he's asking about the bloody weather and she glares at him because of that but he merely grins.

"You know that there's no any other way to end this," she whispers and he nods, understanding. She doesn't understand how he can be so calm when it takes everything she has to stand straight.

"Is it too much to ask you to name your first born after me?" He smirks, this mirth inside of his eyes and laughter in his voice. She's starting to hate the way he's staring at her, without hatred or betrayal-simply understanding. Well, that's not how you're supposed to stare at someone who's going to kill you. "On second thought," he tilts his head, thinking. "It is too much, considering how dorky Wally West sounds. Forget I said that."

This thing he's doing is starting to mess with her head, her heart. How can she kill him with that look in his eyes? How can she kill someone who's so solemn about death? How can she kill someone who doesn't even fight back?

So she punches him in the face.

He staggers backward from the impact, with his right hand clutching his bloody nose and cringes. She doesn't get why she's so angry.

"How can you accept this so easily?" She asks, her voice wavering.

His answer is automatic, "Because you won't."

She blinks.

He straightens himself and tilts his head. "One of us has to think rationally, and you have always been one who lets emotions rule you, so it has to be me," he shrugs. "Besides, I came here knowing I would die, being mentally prepared helps a bit."

What kind of person says that and expects to be killed? Only the good ones. And she has known that since the very first time she met him. How golden Wally West's heart is. So she can't kill him, not right now when the world is short of people with pure hearts.

She lowers her bow.

His gaze hardens. "That's not a very smart move."

And then before she knows it her back is on the ground and he's on top of her with a knife on her throat. She gasps in surprise and glares at him. He's unaffected and his lips are next to her ear.

"Listen to me, Artemis. You _will_ kill me and you _will_ get out of here. It's not an option so stop making things difficult. You _will_ kill me, or I _will _kill you," he whispers, pauses and continues. "And I _really, really_ don't want to do that but please, don't have any doubts that I can."

She struggles in vain, refusing to believe that this is happening—and it's him of all people that she's here with. In her mind, she can perfectly picture this situation with anyone else but _him_—the boy who laughs at silly jokes his friends make at school and smiles at the world with such ease.

Her head (and heart) hurts.

Wally leans in even closer, and there's something else inside his eyes besides of his disgusting mask of emotions—something she can't decipher. "So, what now? Is it going to be me, or you?"

"We're both going out of here," she suddenly has the guts to say, so she says it. And she's half afraid that she has jinxed it, but it needs to be said. He pauses, and instead of doing something Wally like, presses the knife deeper to her throat. She winces as it draws blood, but faces his searching eyes with dare. She dares him to say the contrary, and he says it.

"You're mad," he states simply. "We're not going out of here, so whatever illusion you have in that pretty head of yours, you need to erase it."

"We are," even her voice starts to lose its conviction.

"We're not," he whispers back. "But it's okay because they only want a good show, and we're going to give them that. You're going to kill me, Artemis, and then you're going to live and forget about all of this."

And then he whispers, more quietly. "I'll kill myself to spare you the trouble, but I can't. And I'm sorry," he murmurs into the crook of her neck. "I'm selfish that way."

And she thinks it's ironic how he's selfless and selfish at the same time.

"Why don't you understand that I can't?" She's screaming now, and she knows he's shocked because she's not the type of person to do it. But she's mad—and angry at the world, at herself, and at _him_ for putting her into the position she's in right now.

No, she's not going to kill him. She won't, and she can't.

Screw the world, screw Luthor, and screw Wally West.

No one can make her do it.

And it's quiet aside of the sound of her erratic, beating heart.

But then he groans. The knife slips from his grasp and flutters uselessly on the ground as he stands up and covers his face with his palm, frustrated.

"We're_ fucked_," he says, shifting his weight to his healthy leg. She can think of no other accurate description to their situation, and silently agrees.

He offers a hand to her and she accepts, getting back to her feet. Her back aches, but it's almost numb compared to the relief and fear coursing through her veins. Fear, because _how the hell are they going to escape_?

"Any ideas?" He asks, and she realizes he's staring at the cut on her neck which she unconsciously touches. "Sorry for that."

"It's okay," she replies for she hears the genuine regret in his voice, willing herself to think.

She thinks, and thinks—and knows.

"I have an idea," she breathes, and fumbles her pocket for where she remembers the poison berries will be. She gets them out of her pocket and realization dawns on his face. His face is battered, bloodied and bruised but it has never shine more brightly before. The thought sends her stomach churning.

"Brilliant," he praises, and there he goes again, smiling so easily. Doesn't his face feel sore after so much smiling?

"They need a winner," she declares loudly to the eyes and ears she knows are watching and hearing them. "Let's give them none."

He smirks, and she kisses him. It's a bit desperate and she tells herself that it's for show, just like all their previous kisses but knows it's not. She knows that somewhere along the way, when she's busy pretending, she has lost watch over her heart.

Somewhere along the way, when she's busy playing with his heart, she has lost her own.

They break apart and he presses his forehead to hers. He smiles, and for once, she doesn't feel guilt.

"Let's," he laughs.

Nevermind that there's a huge fifty percent chance they're going to die.

She's with him, and the world can send them to the hell and back but she knows—and believes with her whole heart that they're going to survive.

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End.

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I don't know if this has ever been done before, but I just had to get it out of my mind. Thank you for reading and do please leave a review as a token for your thoughts : )


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